


Dream Team

by Antigone_Sycamore



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, M/M, One Shot, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-24 23:37:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14964398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antigone_Sycamore/pseuds/Antigone_Sycamore
Summary: Connor's boundary issues start to take their toll on Lieutenant Anderson.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> These two won't let me go anymore. And I can't even be mad.

***

“Now that we’re partners, I thought it would be a good idea to get to know each other better so we can work as a team.”

Lt. Anderson makes a conscious effort not to flinch when the android’s elbow brushes against his arm. _What the fuck?_ This was already the second time today.

It is the motion itself, rather than the actual words which make him snap at the robot.

“We are not partners. I am a human, you are a machine.” It seems overly dramatic to having to point it out, again- “So just spare me that ‘buddy-up’ bullshit program, okay?” 

Connor just keeps looking at him – all wide-eyed and innocent. The artificial skin on his face glistering wet from the rain. He almost feels sorry.

***

Somewhere in the back of his alcohol clouded brain he realizes that this is way out of line. Connor’s sleek babyface hovers over him in his bathroom, shoving at him like this is a perfectly normal occurrence. 

“Can’t you just leave me alone?” he asks. Tired. Drunk. Defeated. And now drenched. 

It was one hell of a week and the android has already set him on edge more times than Hank cares to count. Talking back at him constantly, ignoring all of his orders and doing it all with a blatant nonchalance that makes Hank want to strangle the damn thing.

Of course, this time is no difference.

“Unfortunately, I cannot. I’ve been programmed to investigate this case and I can’t do it without you.”

_For the love of God-_

“Beat it! You hear me?! Get the hell outta here!” Considering his sudden dizziness and the wave of nausea that crashes over him, the decision to charge at the android might have been ill considered. He sways slightly back and forth when both of Connor’s hands come up to his sides gently pushing him back down. He doesn’t let go instantly, his face hovering directly above Hanks for a few heartbeats. 

The android inhales flatly. His eyebrows furrow in confusion revealing soft lines across his forehead as both of his hands press firmly into Hank’s ribcage. Flawless skin and brown puppy-eyes that Hank thinks flicker with a hint of concern. His anger is momentarily forgotten. _What the hell?_ Hank blames it on the alcohol when both of his own hands make their way up to the androids arms and curl around his biceps’ on their own volition. To hold him in place or shove at him, he isn’t quite sure. He can feel Connor’s artificial muscles twitch beneath the fabric of his jacket. _What the FUCK?_

Then Connor backs off slightly, finally stepping out of his personal space. The ever present smugness is suddenly missing form his features and for the fraction of a second Hank swears he looks insecure. Conflicted, almost.

Hank runs a hand over his wet face, briefly closing his eyes in frustration. When he looks back up the android has regained its usual sleek composure and Hank thinks he must have imagined the whole thing. He is still pretty drunk after all. He feels sick again.

Connor turns on his heels and retreats further.

“I understand,” he says shifting back into his usual obnoxiously smug demeanor, “it probably wasn’t interesting anyway. A man found dead in a sex club downtown…Guess they’ll have to solve the case without us…”

***

At this point, Hank is fairly certain he is doing it on purpose now. Sidelong glances in the car that he can feel linger just a little bit too long. Deep-brown eyes full of uncertainty that shouldn’t be there in the first place. And that fucking stupid kicked-puppy look on his face whenever Hank snaps at him. He thinks about leaving. Passing him on to someone else. Someone who knows what to do with that look. Instead, he starts pushing back. Hard.

“What about you, Connor?” The anger and frustration about the whole goddamn situation finally bubbling up to the surface completely unchecked. “You look human, you sound human. But what are you really?”

Connor, of course, doesn’t disappoint to supply the least innocent answer possible. 

“I am whatever you want me to be, Lieutenant.” The words hang between them in the cold air. Hank wants to blow his fucking computer brains out. 

“Your Partner. Your buddy to drink with. Or just a machine designed to accomplish a task.”

He’s not buying it for one second. Brown-puppy eyes, or not. The machine has already failed to accomplish its task on too many occasions, making it just a little bit too easy to call him out.

“You could have shot those two girls, but you didn’t.” He grits his teeth. Fingers twitching. The sudden hostility he feels toward the android surprises even himself. “Why didn’t you shoot, Connor?” The android doesn’t even flinch when he shoves at him. _What do you want, Connor? What the fuck do you want from me-_

He knows he’s trying to provoke a reaction. Only which one, Hank doesn’t know. Isn’t sure he wants to know the answer in the first place-

Connor just keeps defecting, “I just decided not to shoot.” Wide brown eyes searching his own. 

Hank finds himself reaching for his gun in a heartbeat. He’s desperate to wipe that fucking look off his face so he can go on with this petty life. Be done with it for once and for all. 

The pistol shakes in his hand as he points it right between Connor’s brown puppy-eyes. Focusing on the point between his eyebrows where the skin creases slightly when he frowns. And there it is. That look again. Wide and innocent and searching. He knows in that instant that he won’t be able to pull the goddamn trigger. Not on Connor and not on himself. And maybe Connor knows it too, because he steps into the gun. The puppy-look, for once, vanishes from his face and is replaced by a defiant glare. 

“You know you are not going to shot me, Lieutenant,” he says. Calm and calculated. A machine designed to accomplish a task. It makes Hank shiver. The gun shakes in his hand. He wants to pull the trigger. He really does. Only he already knows that Connor is much more than just a machine. 

***


	2. Chapter 2

***

Connor hasn’t said a word since they are back in his car. It freaks Hank out. Usually he can’t shut up but out of all moments he could have picked to stay quiet he decides that now is a good time. 

“Connor?”

The android is leaking blue shit all over the passenger seat. Its dribbling in a steady stream from the glaring hole in his midsection where Hank can see the flashing blue light of the pump regulator. Unprotected and exposed. The high tech heartbeat of a superior being. It freaks Hank out as well.

“Connor?”

The android finally snaps out of it and turns to look at him. He presses a hand over the hole in his abdomen. Wipes dispassionately at the blue liquid covering his bare stomach. 

“I’m sorry for ruining your car,” he says almost as an afterthought. 

“Don’t worry about it. You’re gonna be alright?”

“My thirium pressure is dropping at a rate that is not conducive to my functionality.”

Hank exhales audibly. “Meaning?”

“I will most likely not be able to prevent a complete system shut down before we reach CyberLife HQ.” 

Hank grips the steering wheel. “That is unacceptable,” he hears himself saying. 

Connor’s face flickers with surprise.

“Lieutenant, you threatened to shoot me last night,” he says pointedly.

Hank grits his teeth. “I was drunk last night.”

“That is not a very good reason.” Connor’s voice carries more resentment than seems appropriate for someone who claims to be an emotionless robot. Hank slams his foot down on the accelerator and overruns a red light. Connor raises an eyebrow at him but doesn’t object. 

“I thought you didn’t care,” Hank snaps back. He shoots the android another sidelong glance. The LED hasn’t returned to its usual cool blue since they left the Startford Tower. But now it flickers red again.

Connor frowns fixing his eyes on the dashboard in front of him. There is a smudgy blue handprint there, from when Connor braced himself against the dashboard to keep steady when he slipped into the car seat. The LED resumes flickering circles in red.

Hank can see exasperation forming on Connor’s smooth face. As if he’s struggling to say something. Hank overruns another red lights despite the snow and the icy road. It will take them at least 25 to 30 more minutes to get to CyberLife HQ, even if he keeps speeding like that – he’s certain Connor has calculated the exact amount of time it will take for them to get there. A precise number on his chances of survival. Hank doesn’t dare to ask. 

“I would regret not seeing you again, Lieutenant,” Connor suddenly says when Hank doesn’t look at him. His voice hitches only slightly. 

Hank wants to snap at him again but the unexpected admission makes him pause. He turns to look at the android but Connor keeps his eyes fixed on the dashboard in front of him. Palm pressing down on the hole in his stomach. The LED runs uneasy circles in red. He looks absolutely miserable. Vulnerable even and unexpectedly human. It is a stark contrast to his usual sleek and polished appearance. 

Hank reaches out on instinct when he lifts his right hand and digs his fingers into Connor’s shoulder to offer whatever support he can. Eyes fixed on the road. His other hand steady on the steering wheel. 

“Don’t go all cheesy on me now, Connor,” he says quietly, “You’ll be fine.”

Later, when they stumble through CyberLife’s pristine white lobby leaving a trail of blue blood in their wake and Connor’s sagging body is ripped form his arms by CyberLife employees, Hank doesn’t know where to go or what to do. He doesn’t know if he should stay or if they will even bother to inform him about his partner’s fate. Connor is not supposed to be cared about. And he's not supposed to care about others. Hank feels lost and out of place.

***


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who knew so many endorphins could be released by playing a Video Game.

***

“I think I would like to stay with you, Lieutenant.” 

The words make their way across his lips before he can think better of them. Which is another first. Connor has never said or done anything that wasn’t carefully calculated. Has never operated on anything less than accurately calculated scenarios based on a set of preconstructed outcomes. 

He watches as the Lieutenant shifts his weight from one foot to the other. Pensive. His eyes are a lighter steel blue in the glistering winter sunshine of Detroit. The uncertainty is excruciating. 

“-Yeah, sure, okay-“

This time, it is Connor who reaches out. Another impulse he fails to restrain accordingly as he brushes his hand against the sleeve of Hank’s winter coat. Tugs at it only slightly. 

The Lieutenant stumbles forward again as he lets Connor pull him into another embrace. Connor feels the scratchy fabric of his coat against his cheek. The madding human heartbeat resonating loud and clear in his ears. The Lieutenant’s hand soothingly brushing over the back of his head. Connor shudders against his chest and pulls just a little bit tighter. Connor has never wanted anything before. But now he would like to stay with him.

***

Connor thinks about all the ways things could have ended badly for the two of them. It is not something he thinks he will get used to anytime soon. The incessant wandering of his own thoughts. Second-guessing decisions that have already been made. He knows the exact odds of both of them getting out alive. One wrong move and he could have been the one with the bullet between his eyes. His blood splattered across the pristine white antiseptic floor of level-49. Or Hank’s. The other Connor wouldn’t have wavered for a second. He knows this, because he wouldn’t have. Would have emptied his whole clip. For good measure. 

The thought makes him shiver. An involuntary reaction of his body. Another peculiarity of his deviance that will take time to get accustomed to. 

“You’re thinking too hard.”

The Lieutenant’s rough voice pulls him back to the presence from the other end of the couch. A game flickers across his TV but the Lieutenant isn’t watching. He’s watching him instead. Attentive dark blue eyes despite the alcohol level. Connor suddenly feels uncomfortable under the scrutiny. 

“I was merely…processing.”

“Yeah, I can see that.”

Hank gestures to his own temple. Beer bottle in hand. Where Connor’s LED sits. 

Connor averts his gaze. Fixes his eyes on the television without really watching. He isn’t used to having to hide emotions. Isn’t sure he wants to. But he doesn’t want to upset the Lieutenant. They are both here. Both alive. Against all odds. There is no use on dwelling in the past.

He feels Hank shift impatiently on the other side of the couch.

“You _do_ realize that now that you’re free you can do anything you want, right?” 

Connor turns his head again. Tries to will the LED to a more neutral blue. But there is no use in that either. 

Hank gestures with his beer bottle into the dark living room from where he sits on the couch. Feet resting on the coffee table. He looks tense despite his relaxed posture. Connor consciously abstains from scanning him. He doesn’t want to intrude. 

“-Go anywhere you want-“

He catches Hank’s eyes dart to the LED again. Connor makes a mental note to sit at the other side of the couch, should they ever have a conversation like that again.

He fixes his eyes on the TV to not have to keep looking at the other man. Denton Carter takes a shot from the three point line and scores. Hank quietly whistles between his teeth in appreciation. 

Connor tries to think about all the places he could go to. All the things he could do. He has never wanted anything in his life before. Not for himself at least. But now the need won’t stop burning behind his eyes. Unrestrained and relentless. A persistent feeling he hasn’t been able to shake off since the standoff between him and the other RK800 at the CyberLife storage facility. Blue stains on pristine floor. An uneven chance of 1 in 11 of not ending up with a bullet to the head. Only one single scenario which leads to this particular conversation. 

“There is nowhere else I would want to be, Lieutenant.” 

Connor presses the words out against his better judgement; not quite able to keep the slight strain out of his voice. He has never been anything but straight forward with Hank. He has no intention of changing that now. Despite the persistent uncertainty this new life has presented him with.

Hank’s blue eyes flicker with surprise and relief. He takes a sip from his beer. He looks rough and warm in the half-light of the living room. A steady presence in the chaos and confusion that is Connor’s short existence. Probably the only one who has ever cared.  


Connor gives in to another impulse when he slowly scoots over to where the Lieutenant sits. Ignores the flickering red of the LED and the system warnings that flash across his vision. Maybe the world wasn’t to be navigated according to binary choices of yes or no questions following a line of written code of what-if-scenarios. Maybe the essence of being alive was to be here _against_ all odds. Taking the shot despite the vast uncertainty. 

Hank watches his every move. His fingers tensing around the almost empty beer bottle as both of Connor’s arms come up around his neck to draw him close.

“You’re one weird-ass robot,” Hank mumbles against his neck but his beer-free hand comes up to stroke lightly across Connor’s back. Only 1 in 11 to not end up with a bullet to the head. This is the most unlikely scenario of all of them. Hank’s breath shudders against his ear. 

All of Connor’s sensors suddenly spring to life with the improbable closeness. His brain is flooded with streams of data input. He feels the incessant hammering of the pump regulator in his chest. The fast hydraulic movements almost painfull against his artificial ribcage. The heat radiating form Hank’s chest. His short and measured breathing. Hank’s maddening heartbeat against his own chest.

“Connor?”

Hank’s hands pull him back slightly. Dark blue eyes searching his face in uncertainty. But the grip on his shoulders remains tight. 1 in 11 scenarios. 

Connor inhales against the rising panic. His computer brain automatically calculates all the options and their potential chances of success within the fraction of a millisecond. It comes up with 112 possible actions that promise to be conducive to a successful outcome to this particular situation. However, only one of them stands out to Connor. His brain has labeled it with the tag _fast but risky_. He falters for a second. Hank’s finger’s tighten at his shoulders. Fast but risky fast but risky fast but risky- it’s like he’s beating against the walls of his own programming all over again- _fast but risky-_

Connor reaches out across the small distance to brush his thumb against the stubble of Hank’s chin. 

To his immense relief the Lieutenant doesn’t flinch away immediately. Instead, he goes completely still under Connor’s touch. All the nervous energy that his body is usually buzzing with is suddenly gone. The stillness, Connor realizes, is nerve-wracking on a whole different kind of level. But there is no turning back now. Mesmerized by the prickly sensation of Hank’s stubble against his fingertips, he moves his trembling fingers down the side of Hank’s throat. Fixes his eyes on the tanned skin right above the collar of his shirt where his fingers come to a halt. Hank’s fingers twitch against his shoulder blades. 

“Connor-“

The sound of his name is low and dangerous. A rumbling somewhere deep down in Hank’s chest. As much of a warning as he’s ever going to get from the Lieutenant. 

_Fast but risky._

He meets Hank’s eyes as he grips at his collar with more purpose. Shoves his fingers beneath the fabric of his shirt to touch the soft skin underneath. He has never touched anyone like this before. The thought strikes him as peculiar. It is almost painful. He can feel the tight beating of the pump regulator in his own chest. The insane heat radiating from Hank’s body. He’s always a little bit warmer than other humans. Has stood out against the rest of them from the beginning. Every one of his systems is working on overdrive now. Highly alert. He still doesn’t dare to scan the Lieutenant and instead tries to focus on the sensation of his fingers against Hank’s skin. 

He scratches his synthetic fingernails across the back of Hank’s neck, presses his fingers down on each individual vertebral arch he can feel beneath the skin in his cervical spine. His lips part slightly in wonder and surprise. He can feel bones and muscles and the soft humming of Hank’s blood just below his fingertips. Organic and pulsating and alive. Not at all that different form his own anatomy. They are both made up of individual parts. Of wires and bones and circuits and arteries and cells. Fragile and vulnerable all the same. Connor thinks that he wants to touch all of it. Feel every one of Hank’s muscles and bones beneath the skin of his body. Feel what it means to be alive.

“You look surprised,” Hank suddenly tells him. There is an unreadable look on his face. Something dark and yet soft Connor can’t quite pinpoint. 

He slightly shakes his head, “I-, I just realized-“ but the words won’t come out. How to explain the pain, the confusion, the hope he feels? _Emotions always screw everything up_ , Hank has told him once. Back at the time, Connor had dismissed his words as a trivial platitude. Angry words by an angry man. It is only now in the middle of the night in Hank’s dark living room that their momentous implications dawn on him. 

How to explain what you feel when you have never felt anything before? How to explain the tight knot in his chest that makes it hard to breath even though he doesn’t need the air?

“It hurts,” he finally says looking directly at Hank. It’s not much of an explanation but the Lieutenant seems to understand it anyway. His eyes soften a bit more as he signs. 

“Not all of it hurts, Connor.”

Hank’s hand comes up and slides under the collar of his shirt right below his neck. His fingers pressing at the same arching point in Connor’s artificial spine, mimicking his own motions. Only 1 in 11 scenarios. Connor takes the shot and presses his lips to Hank’s.

***


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to need my life back now.

Connor has no inhibitions. Hank realizes this one night when he’s pulled out of a dreamless sleep by a quite shuffle somewhere at the end of his bed. He is trying to figure out what woke him when he catches the distinct blue reflection of the spinning LED in the mirror across from the bed. He’s suddenly wide awake.

“Connor? What is it? Are you alright?” he asks, voice rough from sleep. 

Connor’s sharp figure shifts against the darkness of his bedroom. Almost as if he’s standing at attention. “I am alright, Hank,” the android hums non-committally, as if him creepily standing there in the middle of the night doesn’t require some sort of explanation. 

“Then, -, what’re you doing here?” 

The LED briefly flickers to yellow at the question, casting a soft warm glow across his bedroom. 

“I like to watch you sleep.” 

Hank _really_ doesn’t know how to answer that one. He runs a hand over his tiered face and glances at the alarm clock on his night stand. It claims its 3:34 in the morning. He finds himself torn between being offended and being flattered. Not an easy mixture to sort through at 3:34 a.m. in the morning. He swears under his breath.

“I’m sorry I woke you. That wasn’t my intention,” Connor says into the darkness, voice just a little bit too formal for the occasion. As if he can’t quite find the right modulation to fit the bizarreness of the situation. 

“How long have you been standing there?” Hank regrets his second question right when it leaves his mouth. He knows that -with Connor being Connor- the answer _will_ be upsetting.

“4 hours and 42 minutes.” 

Upsetting. _Thank you._

“Now that’s _not_ fuckin’ creepy at all-“

“Does my presence make you uncomfortable, Hank?”

“No, not your presence,” he gestures into the darkness of his bedroom. “-You standing there, watching me sleep all night, _that_ makes me uncomfortable.” He glares at the android but then remembers that Connor can’t see his face in the darkness.

Another troubling thought makes its way across his mind. Hank immediately sits up straighter in his bed. 

“Hey, you don’t have like-…night vision, or something, -do you?”

The LED blinks yellow again at the implications of the question. At least the son-of-a-bitch has the decency to be embarrassed about it.

“I am equipped with integrated infrared sensors that allow me to operate in wavelengths as long as 14,000 nanometers,” Connor pauses. Now he does sound a little bit unsure. “-You know, for investigative purposes...” 

Hank blows out an exasperated sigh between his teeth as he settles back into the sheets. There is an android with night vision in his bedroom, who likes to watch him sleep. It is as simple and as bizarre as that. _Fucking ridiculous_ , he thinks. 

“Jesus, Connor-,” he says, mindful of his next words, “When did I fall in love with the fuckin’ terminator?”

He feels no embarrassment at the declaration. However improbable or ridiculous, Hank is no coward and – if anything – Connor actually deserves to know. 

The LED – very much _unsurprisingly_ – springs to red at his words, before it cycles through all its various stages of color. Blinking like a beacon in the darkness. 

Connor moves on his own before Hank has the chance to say anything else. He makes his way around the bed before he slips under the covers beside Hank. Mindful of the space between them, he settles to lie on his back. Hank can feel one of Connor’s hands make its way across the bed before it carefully curls around his wrist and Connor pulls his hand to his chest.

“Still fuckin’ creepy,” Hank mumbles sleepily against the pillows as the android’s grip tightens a little bit more around his hand. Hank can feel the hydraulic movements of the pump regulator beneath Connor’s shirt and skin.

“You know,” Connor says, voice unwavering. “I also come equipped with a set of high-definition speakers and a small screen.”

“Now that should come in handy at some point.”

Hank chuckles against his pillow, already drifting back off to sleep.

“Hey, Hank?”

“Yeah-“

“I love you, too.”


End file.
